ashes
by Wotcher-Tonks
Summary: I am ashes where once I was fire- Lord Byron. Five Times Illyria Felt.


This is my first Angel fic. Please review! For the 5 things challenge on Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges. I always liked Fred and I even sort of liked Illyria and I felt like at the end of the series, she had really grown to have more human characteristics. Please read and review and tell me what you think! Thanks. SPOILER WARNING. IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FINALE OF ANGEL DON'T READ THIS!

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_I am ashes where once I was fire- Lord Byron. _

Ashes (Five Times Illyria Felt)

i. This was new to her, a novel concept for one so old. Illyria was used to being a physical manifestation of her power, a being that radiated influence. She once knew all and was feared by all and now she was thrust into a world bearing little resemblance to that of her reign. The shell was thin, delicate. Colors were muted, and she felt as though she had to strain her eyes to see clearly what she once would have seen through. She flexed her fingers experimentally, and they felt brittle, like thin twigs that would snap easily. Unfortunately, this was what she was stuck with for the meantime, until she could bestow her full glory upon the world. She flexed her fingers experimentally, curled them towards herself (they were so small). She was dismayed. She had never had cause to be disappointed before and she did not like the feeling. With an inward sigh, she said in a rough voice so unlike hers, "This will do."

ii. "Is that all you can do, love?" the white-haired one dared to ask her. Her lip curled. There was a time when she would have killed him for his insolence, and all those who witnessed it, but now she just felt tired. Lazily, she flicked her fingers, altering time so that it was minutes before his fist reached her face. Just before it did, she unfroze time and stepped nimbly out of the way. "Well, that's not bloody fair," the white-haired one complained. He made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time- annoyed.

iii. She came back, gasping. Their murderous eyes narrowed. She glared at them, concealing her disbelief. They were going to kill her! They dared to murder her, and the grieving one would point a weapon at her. This betrayal shocked her. She knew she shouldn't have trusted any of them, and she hadn't but still, this hit uncomfortable close to home. There was only one course of action to take, only one thing to do in her rage. She would have to kill them first. She didn't feel sorry in the slightest, just an uncontrollable anger. How could they even think of slaying her? She was Illyria, God-king of the Primordium. This was unthinkable.

iv. She comes up to him, hair brown and eyes kind. "Wesley?" she asks in the shell's voice. His reflexes are dulled by the amount of poison he drinks daily but still he jumps. "Fred?" he asks. Then he seems to come to his senses, and says sharply. "_Don't_." She doesn't understand. He loved the shell. Shouldn't he love her? It doesn't matter to her, not in the slightest but it still hurts a little. (She pretends it doesn't). This shell is weak, and sometimes she can't tell who it is that cares for Wesley, the dead shell or the trapped god-king. She says nothing, but changes back, watching his shoulders relax the second she does. "That's better," he says softly, and his voice breaks and she wonders again whether she actually cares what this insignificant creature thinks about her. She doesn't, not at all, but she still feels yet another unknown feeling. She thinks (and promptly tries to forget) that it is called rejection.

v. He's dead, he's dead, and nothing matters anymore because he's gone and he won't come back as a vampire like Angel and not as a ghost like Spike and not in a coffin like her, this is permanent and she realizes she cared for him too, it wasn't just the shell. There's a sharp keening sound filling the room as she looks at his limp still body and she is only a little surprised when she figures out it's coming for her and there are tears running down her face and she had seen him leak tears but she had never and now she is and she knows what she's feeling and it's grief. And there isn't much more to do the only thing she can do right now and possibly forever is hold him to her and kiss his forehead more gently than she's ever done anything in her too-long life. She screams and she's sad so sad that it hurts and the only thing that might possibly make this better is if she destroys. So she takes off his glasses, closes his eyelids with shaking fingers and kisses that beatific smile on his face (his joy at her lie that wasn't a lie, not at all) and tucks the glasses gently into a secret pocket. They might smash in the upcoming battle but she doesn't care because it'll just be one more part of her that's smashed and as she stands up, every cell in her body screaming _griefgriefgrief_ she looks at him one last time committing him to her too-long memory and her too-long heart that she didn't have and lost already and doesn't look back as she leaves him lying in that room with the dead Circle member. She meets them in the alley and the liquid on her face can only partly be attributed to the rain and she doesn't care if they can tell and she tells them that Wesley, her Wesley is dead and that she wishes to do more violence. _(because it might be the only thing that keeps the grief from consuming her)_.


End file.
